


This Isn't Over

by PoppyAlexander



Series: Johnlock ficlets [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Biting, Fight!lock, Fighting, John doesn't think Sherlock's clever, M/M, No Romance, Punching, Threats, fightlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Say that again."</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Isn't Over

### 

 

"Say that again. No, honestly, go on: Say it again." 

"I don’t repeat myself."

John launched himself at Sherlock, gathered his shirtfront in his fist and landed three quick rights: two on his cheekbone and one on his jaw, which slid sickeningly far to the opposite side and let off a popping noise that echoed.

Sherlock spun away, took a long step backward, smug grin blooming across his face just to the point where the pain forced it to reverse course. John made a move forward but Sherlock ducked low, shoved John by the shoulder, swept a leg out from under him and all at once they were a low-lying, furious tangle of flailing limbs, thick-knuckled fists, here and there teeth finding purchase against skin, seeking the ropes of muscle rolling beneath, and closing down hard. Sherlock’s elbow met John’s nose and blood rolled from his nostril in jagged rivulets; John rolled and pinned him and grabbed his hair and smacked his head against the floor.

"Watch your mouth gorgeous," John warned. "Else I’m happy to smash it shut for you."

Sherlock rolled his tongue in a slow circuit around his lips, east to north to west to south—a reminder, a promise—and huffed, “I know better.”

John’s heavy left met those smirking lips, and the top one split against Sherlock’s teeth, and John’s face dripped blood beside Sherlock’s eye like a polluted tear. It quivered, then rolled.

"You know I’m not impressed with your parlour trick, gorgeous," John said then, in a tone at once threatening and derisive. "Keep it to yourself." He moved to rise and they both got their feet under them. John disappeared into the bathroom, stopped up his bleeding nostril with toilet tissue. Sherlock spat a mouthful of blood into the kitchen sink, held his crisply-pressed white handkerchief against his mouth.

"This isn’t over," John enunciated through the closed bathroom door, raising his voice over the volume of the running tap.

Sherlock laughed bitterly, shrugged on his coat; he’d be late now, with a fat lip to explain.

"It’s never over, is it?"


End file.
